


Switch

by leonshardt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M, McGenji Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonshardt/pseuds/leonshardt
Summary: A teleportation malfunction puts Genji and McCree in a rather difficult situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i had a bodyswap crackfic idea waaay back in august, but i only got around to finishing it now because of mcgenji week. even though this technically doesn't fall into any of the prompts. oh well. don't take it too seriously.

 

To be fair, Winston had warned them that they might experience some discomfort from the teleportation device.

“Well yes,” Genji had said, “considering that you have improvised this contraption with tech scavenged off a dead Talon agent, I think putting it rather mildly.”

“It’s a fair warning,” Winston replied, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve done what I can with our resources, and this is our best shot at a clean infiltration of Talon headquarters. Just, uh, keep in mind that these teleporters weren’t intended to be used by more than one person at a time.”

So, yeah, the potential dangers were a little concerning, but it didn’t stop McCree and Genji from taking the plunge anyway. For McCree, the feeling is more disorientation than pain, a dull clanging in his ears as his vision warps and turns backwards, upside down, inverting. His whole body tingles like he’s being shocked, and he squeezes his eyes shut, pulling his limbs tight-- and then suddenly everything stops. It’s quiet. He falls to the ground with a muffled thud.

“Ow,” he says, a little slurred, or maybe it was Genji who said it. Kind of hard to tell.

He pushes himself up off scuffed linoleum flooring, clumsily maneuvering himself into sitting position. Something is off. His arms are-- his hands-- Genji’s hands?

“Oh,” comes a familiar voice to his left. Then, louder, “ _Oh_. Jesse.”

McCree turns, scanning the room. “What-- oh.” He’s facing a mirror image of himself; it’s probably the most disorienting thing that’s happened thus far. That’s his body, all right, down to the hat and belt buckle. But it’s not him, because he’s right here, and…

Genji, in his body, blinks back at him.

“Hi,” McCree says in Genji’s voice. It’s weird as hell talking from a voice synthesizer, but at least his accent is still his own. McCree tries to open his jaw, but finds that he can’t; what he initially thought was part of Genji’s mask is actually his lower _face_ , metal fusing seamlessly into bone, hard and inflexible. And then all of a sudden, he doesn’t know if he should move; it feels as if just existing, existing like _this_ , with Genji right next to him, is some kind of horrible violation of privacy on both their parts.

But beside him, Genji can’t seem to stop staring at his hands. He flexes them, turns them over, runs a fingertip across brown and weathered skin, lingering over old scars like he’s surprised and fascinated at the same time. “Winston did not mention this side effect,” he murmurs, and McCree shifts uncomfortably in his new body. Nothing in his Blackwatch training prepared him for this. What was the protocol for these kinds of situations? Should they call for an extraction, or carry out the mission anyway? This was supposed to be a stealth assignment; surely this development could only hinder their progress.

Well, first things first. McCree takes a moment to analyze their surroundings: kitchen counters, sink, refrigerator, a few chairs and tables, lockers against the far wall. It almost looks like--

“A break room,” McCree says. “A nice one, too. Huh. Didn’t think Talon would put lounges on their priority list, with all the murder and terrorism they get up to during the week day.”

“Very funny,” Genji says. “But if we are in our enemy’s base, then it would be prudent to stay vigilant.” He lifts an arm slowly, bringing one hand to rub at the rough stubble on his cheek. “Also, you should consider shaving every once in awhile.”

“Hey,” McCree protests, “Commander Reyes says it makes me look more seasoned.”

“Seasoned.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“Like seasoning? On food?”

“Uh...” Truthfully, McCree hadn’t given it much thought. He just liked it when Commander Reyes complimented him; it sure as hell didn’t happen very often. But Genji doesn’t wait for him to respond. Genji shrugs and then heads over to the refrigerator, popping the door open and peering at its contents. After a moment of consideration, he picks up container of orange juice-- carefully, like he’s given it a lot of thought-- uncaps it, and takes a swig. McCree stares. Genji just makes a thoughtful humming noise, licks his lips, and then downs the rest of the juice in one go.

“What are you doing,” McCree says.

“Drinking juice,” Genji says. “You know, when I was younger I never liked orange juice. I thought it was too sour, like drinking vinegar. I suppose my tastes never had the opportunity to change until now.”

Okay. As far as mental breakdowns to stressful situations go, this isn’t that bad. McCree could work with this. He has important mission things to be doing.

“Genji,” he says, “We should call HQ. Maybe get Angela on the line, see if she can fix this.”

Genji snorts. “Unlikely. Besides, Talon will most likely be monitoring any transmissions incoming or outgoing from the base. Even our unconventional entry into their hideout will not go unnoticed for long.”

Okay, so maybe they both haven’t quite managed to lose their composure despite the circumstances. But there’s too much at stake here to be making careless errors.

There’s a sudden scuffing noise from outside the door. Muffled muttering. Footsteps? McCree freezes, listening hard-- not that it’s difficult, Genji’s hearing is actually _really good_. “Someone’s coming,” McCree hisses, and in a flash both he and Genji scramble to press themselves against the opposite wall. Genji’s still holding the empty container of orange juice.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Genji whispers, “Your hearing is actually really poor. Have you been firing your gun in enclosed spaces again?”

It’s a shame that McCree has a visor in front of his eyes, because he _really_ wants Genji to see the face he’s making right now.

When the door opens, the Talon agent doesn’t seem to immediately notice them. Beside him, Genji looks like he’s struggling to remember how to hold his breath. Blame it on McCree’s instinct to always get the first shot in, but before the Talon guy can react he quickly steps forward and decks him right across the face. The agent doesn’t even get a chance to fight back before he’s crumpling to the floor like a rag doll.

“Whoa there,” McCree says, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He feels light, almost floaty. Like his limbs are moving through a substance lighter than air. Moving in this body is so… easy.

“Jesse,” Genji says.

“Yes,” McCree says.

Genji’s face is blank, like he’s unused to making facial expressions, or perhaps unused to making expressions with McCree’s face. But McCree has long since learned to read his body language-- a tilt of his head, a hand on his hip-- Genji is amused. McCree half expects him to start laughing at him, but he just jerks his chin at the body at their feet and says, “Help me get him to the lockers.”

With some effort they drag the unconscious Talon agent to the other side of the room, stuffing his limp form into one of the open lockers. The agent’s head lolls against the metal side.

“He’s going to be pissed when he wakes up,” Genji says.

“We should probably get going, then,” McCree says.

They look at each other for a moment, then at the Talon agent. Wordlessly, Genji drops the empty juice carton into the locker with him, and then closes the door.

“Blueprints?” Genji asks, dusting off his hands, and McCree responds, “Winston gave them to us, should be on the datapad.”

Genji stands. Reaches unconsciously at his hip for his sword hilt, finds Peacekeeper instead.

“Oh. About that.” McCree clears his throat. “We should switch equipment before heading out.” He may be in Genji’s body, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be without his trusted gun. Swords just aren’t the same to him. Although…

He lightly touches the hilt of the blade against his back, feeling with artificial nerves the place where Genji’s grip had worn into the handle. Sensory memory, blooming in the back of his mind. Something tactile. Callouses. The smack of wood on wood, echoing through the dojo. Carp flags blowing in the wind. The sound of his brother’s voice. He thinks for a second that if it came down to it, he would know how to wield the sword like he’d been doing it his whole life.

McCree shakes himself. Boundaries. There are some lines he shouldn’t cross. He wordlessly takes Peacekeeper from Genji, fastens the holster around his hip. Then he looks up at Genji, and almost laughs. If he ever wanted a picture of how he would look trying to wield a sword, well, he’s got it. Serape, belt, spurs. And a samurai sword. A chuckle bubbles up in him.

“What’s so funny?” Genji asks. McCree shakes his head.

“Nothin’,” he says, “nothin’ at all.” He strides to the door, holding it open for Genji. “After you.”

For the first time since they got here, a corner of Genji’s mouth ticks upward. Like he’s remembering how to smile. McCree likes that he can make him do that.

“Let’s go.”

 


End file.
